


five senses

by excelsors



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU University, M/M, Writer!Louis, beware of indulgent music and literature talk i apologize, musician!harry, side Ziam, tw: depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-19
Updated: 2013-10-19
Packaged: 2017-12-29 17:56:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1008337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/excelsors/pseuds/excelsors
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>sometimes when louis is faced with a situation he doesn’t know how to handle, he just starts talking. sometimes when louis just starts talking, he starts writing in his head and those words come out instead. sometimes when louis opens his mouth, he wishes he hadn’t.</i>
</p><p> <i>this is definitely one of those times.</i></p><p>(or louis meets a boy who asks him about the books he reads and changes mostly everything.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	five senses

**Author's Note:**

> thank you all for reading i love every one of you lil muffins
> 
> my main blog is [kataclysmics](http://kataclysmics.tumblr.com/) so please stop by and say hello bc i love friends!!!!

\--

_I don’t think all writers are sad, she said._  
_I think it’s the other way around-_  
_all sad people write._

(Lang Leav)

\--

sometimes louis wakes in a dark room with a sheen of sweat settled onto his skin like morning dew.  sometimes louis wakes with a scream lodged in his throat, threatening to rip its way into the stagnant air around him. sometimes louis wakes from his nightmare and cries with relief because he can breathe.

truthfully, sometimes means every night.

every night louis dreams of drowning.

-

**september 17 th**

on a bright wednesday morning, louis wanders through a smattering of oak trees, trying to decide which one to designate as his reading space.

he studies them all carefully until he finds a rather decrepit one on the edge of the clearing behind his building. its roots are twisted and protruding from the ground in every direction, and the effect is sinister, but louis sits there anyways. he of all people knows that twisted things need comfort just as much as everything else. he thinks that maybe his twisted insides and these twisted roots can comfort each other.

louis sinks down into the dips of the roots and opens his book to the delicately dog-eared page, the autumn wind whispering through the decaying leaves barely hanging on above louis’ head. louis loses track of time between the ink-smudged pages, but when he comes careening back to reality, another sound is curled into the whispers of the wind. it’s a warbling tune, and it’s barely audible, but the melody sneaks its way between louis’ ears.

louis puts down his book and looks up, thinking he might find some songbird perched above him with its beak opened wide, but when the melody suddenly deepens and sounds much closer than before, louis knows this can’t be just some songbird.

and before he can take another breath, someone is singing in a voice that louis thinks would taste like molasses if he could taste sounds.

_i know it’s me who’s supposed to love you_  
_and when i’m home you know i’ve got you_

the sticky-sweet voice is coming closer and closer with every syllable, and louis is paralyzed as he sits wedged between the mangled roots of his tree. he realizes that he’s not actually breathing, so he slowly releases the air trapped in his lungs through parted lips. louis can’t see the person that the voice belongs to, so he assumes the person can’t see him either, but he can hear footsteps now and his heart is beating fast and the voice can’t be more than a few feet away as it rings through the clearing.

_is there somebody who can watch you?_

and then there are a pair of bare feet emerging to louis’ left, dead leaves crunching under ten toes that are dusted in dirt. there is a boy standing a few paces from louis and his eyes are closed but his mouth is open and the sounds dripping from the corners of his mouth are much more than beautiful.

_i know it’s me who’s supposed to love you_  
_is there somebody who can love you?_

louis thinks the song must be over because the boy opens his eyes slowly and louis speaks without thinking.

“you sound like molasses.”

the boy isn’t startled; he doesn’t jump back or suck in his breath or scream. he merely cocks his head to one side and studies louis’ face. and now louis is blushing as embarrassment creeps up his neck and he scrambles for an explanation of his incredibly odd behavior until the boy reaches up and tugs out an ear bud that louis hadn’t taken notice of before.

“what?” the boy asks.

“you sound like molasses.”

as louis blurts it out again, he immediately smacks himself mentally for not coming up with something that sounds less lunatic-y. he then mentally smacks himself again for using the word _lunatic-y_ because he is a writer and fuck, he can do better than that.

“is that a good thing?”

“i think so,” louis begins, talking quickly as he stares down at the ink stains nestled in the ridges of his fingernails, “but i don’t mean the cold, dreary molasses that’s just come out of a tree.  i mean molasses that your mum has warmed up on the stove and drizzled over your pancakes- pumpkin pancakes, i think- and she’s told you not to eat them yet because it’s still too hot from the stove, but you can’t help yourself because, well, they’re your mum’s pumpkin pancakes, and it’s the first day of autumn and you can see the orange leaves outside, so you have to take a bite even if it leaves a little burnt callous on the tip of your tongue. that kind of molasses.”

sometimes when louis is faced with a situation he doesn’t know how to handle, he just starts talking. sometimes when louis just starts talking, he starts writing in his head and those words come out instead. sometimes when louis opens his mouth, he wishes he hadn’t.

this is one of those times.

but the boy has a little something playing on the edges of his lips, and his toes are curling into the dirt and dead leaves, and all of a sudden he’s sitting across from louis with his bare feet tucked under his legs.

“i love pumpkin pancakes,” the boy says with a dopey smile.

when the boy’s dimple peeks out onto his cheek, louis can’t help the spread of his lips as he returns his gaze to his book.

“what are you reading?” the boy asks, twiddling the stem of a decimated leaf between his fingers.

“what were you singing?” louis counters, trying to keep his voice even.

“i asked you first.”

 “what’s your name?” louis asks, changing tactics.

“what’s yours?”

“i asked you first,” louis shoots back, keeping his gaze trained steadily on the words swimming on the page before him, but he’s distracted when he hears the small chuckle that floats from the boy’s mouth.

“it’s called ‘is there somebody who can watch you?’ by the 1975.”

when louis simply nods his head without looking at the boy, the boy lets out an exasperated sigh as he says: “i answered your question, now you’ve got to answer mine. those are the rules.”

louis doesn’t know what rules the boy is talking about and he’s scared, like he almost always is, but somehow he still answers the question without his voice breaking. “the complete poems of john keats.”

louis is in the middle of a poem- _the stars look very cold about the sky, and i have many miles on foot to fare_ \- when the boy speaks again.

“my name’s harry.”

it’s a long time before louis has the courage to say his name. when he does, he exhales it like a secret that he’s kept tucked away for far too many nights.

“louis. i’m louis.”

-

looking back, it feels like a blur- like his entire adolescence was one endless car ride to and from doctor’s offices and hospitals and therapist’s offices, his mother watching him with a furrowed brow and sadness engrained into her eyes the whole time.

he was 13 when he was diagnosed, but louis feels like maybe he should have been diagnosed when he was born. maybe then his parents could have given him away and they would’ve had happier lives. that is always the thought that engulfs louis’ consciousness whenever he works up the nerve to attempt to end his life: “they would be better off without you. everyone would.”

3 failed attempts and almost 8 years later, he’s still here. he’s still breathing.

but living with “severe clinical depression and an anxiety disorder triggered by a traumatic event” that forces him to swallow pill after pill each night is not exactly what louis considers living. every pill he swallows drains a tiny piece of him, subduing the sadness a bit, but also subduing the rest of him as well. louis is a shell of a person- he goes through the motions, he does exactly what he’s told, but he doesn’t feel anything. he is numb to the world.

so, one week into his third year of university, louis decides that he is done feeling like the static on a disconnected television channel. he decides that he doesn’t care if all he feels is a bone-crushing sadness and crippling panic, he just needs to feel _something_.

he flushes all of his pills down the toilet and doesn’t look back.

-

**september 30 th**

it’s been exactly one month since louis stopped taking his pills and exactly thirteen days since he met harry.

on the last day of september, louis is hunkered down between the two most mangled roots of his favorite tree when he hears harry approaching.

_your tongue tastes of nicotine_  
_but you’re saying you just had one_

earlier in the year, louis had scheduled his classes so that he would always have the 10 o’clock hour free, because it’s his favorite time of the day to read. apparently, harry doesn’t have class now either, since he’s shown up every day at the same time since they’ve met.

_wait, why are you kissing me?_

louis hears a new song every morning, but just because he recognizes harry’s voice now doesn’t mean it doesn’t send a tidal wave of goose bumps over his entire flesh. soon, harry is rounding the base of the tree, and louis is watching him because louis knows he won’t open his eyes until he’s done singing. (it only scares him a bit that he already knows this.) harry’s fingertips are ghosting over the ancient bark as he sighs out another line.

_i thought you needed some time alone_

then harry’s eyelashes are fluttering and he’s crouching down to sit and he’s pulling his ear buds out, so louis whips his gaze back to the pages in front of him.

“morning louis!”

something stirs inside louis when he hears his name spilling from the same mouth that makes such incredible sounds as he flips the page nonchalantly, letting a “good morning” slip past his lips.

“that one was ‘what about today?’ by lewis watson,” harry says, beginning their ritual of exchanging information about their musical and literary choices of the day.

“still _les miserablés_ for me.”

“yeah, it’s quite a beast of a book, innit?”

louis nods, knowing it’s even more of a beast because he’s reading the unabridged version. but it would be cheating to read the abridged version. as a writer, louis would be offended if someone cut out part of his writing just to make a story shorter. he thinks he likes the parts that are cut out the most, because he of all people knows that even unwanted things need to be liked.

before louis can begin to form an extended metaphor in his head about how destroying words is like destroying life, he realizes that there is a shadow looming over him and a gentle pressure right below his left eye. he instinctively jerks backwards, dropping his book and startling harry, who happens to be kneeling just inches from his face, his hand outstretched.

“sorry,” harry says quietly as louis regains his composure and mutters something about the virgin mary under his breath.

“sorry, i-” harry begins again, “you had an eyelash.”

“oh,” louis says, barely above a whisper because harry hasn’t retreated and his hand is resting on louis’ cheek again.

“got it!” harry exclaims.

looking quite proud of himself, harry offers his pointer finger to louis and smiles like he’s just found the treasure of el dorado or the fountain of youth. but louis just stares at harry, because he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do with his eyelash.

“what am i supposed to do with my eyelash?”

“you blow on it and make a wish.”

“oh,” louis says, but he doesn’t make a move to blow his eyelash away into oblivion because it just seems a bit silly.

“you _have_ to blow on it and make a wish. those are the rules.”

louis doesn’t know where all of these rules keep coming from, but harry is still dangerously close to him and he can’t focus on much else, so he dutifully closes his eyes and lets out a puff of air. louis doesn’t even have to think of a wish, because he wishes for the same thing every time: _i wish i was normal._

he opens his eyes to find harry looking pleased as he shifts backwards onto his back, lying down and sticking one of his ear buds back in. louis knows this is the signal that harry is going to start listening to music and humming and constantly asking louis questions while louis only pretends to focus on his book. but there’s a scent lingering from the space harry just vacated and it’s swimming through louis’ brain when he wets his lips with his tongue and begins to speak.

“you smell like the first snow storm of winter.”

usually, louis can hear the wind through the trees and the tune of the birds and quiet thrum of traffic nearby, but right now, all he can hear is a shrill ringing in his ears. he looks down at the page and his gaze flits nervously back and forth as he half-reads the words sprawled on the page- _she turned toward him with an astounded appearance, ‘eponine! how do you know my name is eponine?’_

but harry is slowly propping himself up onto an elbow and watching louis carefully, like louis is a frightened deer he could startle off at any moment. at that moment, louis feels more like a bomb than a deer, and he might explode at any moment because he’s speaking to someone without having been asked a question first and he never does that.

 “why is that?”

“because,” louis begins, tearing off a corner of the page he’s currently reading, “when it snows for the first time, it covers absolutely everything that it touches. it blankets everything in a blinding whiteness, and you realize you’ve forgotten how beautiful it is until you see it again. and when you look outside, it’s fresh and clean, like a brand new world sitting outside your door that’s full of opportunities and adventures that you never dreamed could come from a few flakes of crystallized water.”

louis can feel his breath getting more shallow as the silence between them stretches on, and he can feel a panic attack inching closer and closer. he can feel the sheer terror claw at his lungs and he wants to scream at harry, tell him to get out of there before he has to watch louis shatter into pieces before his eyes.

then harry is speaking again, and louis is struggling to keep it together until he can find a way to excuse himself back to his dark flat.

“it’s _chanel de bleu_.”

“oh,” louis says for the millionth time between his small gasps for breath. he thinks that he should really learn how to keep his mouth shut, because this boy that he hasn’t even known for two weeks obviously does not want to hear louis’ strange ramblings about how he sounds and smells.

“but i like your description better,” harry states as he nudges louis’ knee with his big toe.

the jolt of physical contact and the fond tone that creeps into harry’s voice pulls louis’ lungs wide and suddenly, louis is gulping down air as if they’re both made to hold atmospheres of oxygen. his head is clearing and the tears that were gathering in the corners of his eyes are quickly evaporating.

“are you a writer?” harry asks eagerly.

“um-”

“you should be. you have a beautiful way with words.”

louis can’t even form his mouth into a smile because his heart has stopped, and none of his muscles are under his control anymore. nothing is under his control anymore because somewhere, deep down in his chest, louis can feel a spark. it’s not a roaring fire or even a steady flame, it’s just as if someone is absentmindedly playing with a lighter and flicks it too hard. louis doesn’t know what it is or why it’s there, but it’s the first _something_ besides bone-crushing sadness or crippling panic that louis has felt in a long time.

“it’s a compliment, silly. don’t look so shocked,” harry teases as he sprawls out onto his back again.

“sorry,” louis fumbles as harry watches him lazily through the shadows of his eyelashes, “yeah- thank you.”

“you’re welcome, louis.”

the words are almost swallowed up by the rustling of leaves, but they linger on the edge of louis’ consciousness until he falls asleep that night to memories of harry’s touch on his cheek and harry’s smile in the sunlight and louis’ name rolling off of his tongue.

-

louis does well without his pills for one month and eighteen days.

slowly but surely, he opens up to harry. he answers harry’s questions without hesitation, he tells stories from the happier moments of his childhood, and he even smiles. they exchange numbers one day and messages the next, quickly falling into a routine of almost constant correspondence, be it face-to-face in their little patch of woods or over the small screens of their mobiles.         

louis finds he doesn’t dread his alarm going off every morning, because every morning, louis gets to see harry.

louis does well for one month and eighteen days, and that, in itself, is a miracle.

-

**october 18 th**

it’s a chilly friday in october and louis’ knuckles are turning white from gripping the sides of his paperback so tightly because this is _not_ how this book ends, _this is not how it ends._

louis throws the book as far away from him as possible before he collapses in on himself, his small frame quaking with sobs that are pounding through his chest and the metallic sting of blood dripping over his lip from where he’s biting down so forcefully. the words still feel like a punch in a gut- _i like to think that it isn’t weakness or evasion, but a final act of kindness_ \- and his mind is still reeling from the realization of what those words mean for the lovers.

it’s 10:09 and harry is late and louis’ entire being has been ripped to shreds by words on a page.

a tsunami of fear is breaking over louis as he grasps at his sides, trying to physically contain the panic swirling inside of him. his breaths are jagged and don’t provide any oxygen for his body, and his ears are ringing, and his vision is blurring around his tears.

he can’t breathe because he hates himself for letting a book effect him so harshly. he can’t breathe because no one, absolutely no one, gets a happy ending. he can’t breathe because harry isn’t there when he always is and he knows that harry has finally had enough and he’s never coming back. he can’t breathe because he’s let himself get attached to a boy he barely knows and he was stupid enough to feel something and now he’s falling apart under a stupid, dead tree.

louis realizes that all of the noises around him sound like they’re being filtered through a cotton ball and that his vision is spotted with salt and pepper dots- both signs that he’s going to pass out from lack of oxygen. the thought soothes him in a way, and he closes his eyes to ready himself for the nothingness that waits for him.

he can hear the echoes of the birds singing around him and he can hear something else too. he thinks maybe this is it, this is finally it- it’s god or an angel or the devil or whatever coaching him into the light. and suddenly, the voice is closer than before and it has to be slowly filtered through the cotton stuffed in his ears before louis can understand it.

“i’m going to touch you, alright?”

he doesn’t understand.

“louis, i’m going to touch you, alright? do you understand? i need you to nod your head if you’re alright with that.”

he doesn’t understand, but he nods his head because who is he to deny god or an angel or the devil or whatever?

slowly, louis can feel warmth spreading across his back, and something large is pushing him forward. the warmth is settling behind him and the voice is in his ear, making soft shushing noises as what he recognizes as hands creep around his waist and pull him flush against the warmth behind him.

“shhh, lou. shhhh.”

he doesn’t understand.

“lou, i know you’re scared, but i need you to try to take a big, deep breath with me.”

louis shakes his head because now the voice doesn’t understand, because louis can’t just “take a big, deep breath.” if he could, he wouldn’t be in this situation.

“yes, you can, lou. i’ll show you.”

the hands are moving up and they must be huge because they’re covering almost all of louis’ chest as the voice speaks again.

“you feel where my hands are?”

louis understands that the hands must belong to the voice and he nods.

“good. now, do you feel my chest behind yours?”

louis thinks of the warmth and understands that it must be a person behind him, and that the hands and the voice belong to that person. he nods again.

“good, lou. you’re doing so well. it’ll be over soon, i promise. just listen to me, okay?”

louis nods.

“you feel how my chest is moving up and down?”

more nodding.

“i need you to move your chest like mine, right where my hands are. as slowly as you can manage, lou.”

just as he is about to shake his head and admit that he can’t do it, louis feels the outline of a pair of lips faintly pressing onto the tender strip of skin right next to his ear.

“please lou, you can do this. i’m right here. i’ve got you.”

and then louis can hear it- the slow drawl and gravelly whisper. he can smell it- the dewy skin and fresh laundry. when louis realizes that it’s _harry_ who is holding him, dragging his lips across louis’ skin, and begging louis to breathe, everything else in the world vanishes. the world goes white, and louis is breathing it in to the rise and fall of harry’s chest behind him.

louis is breathing.

with each breath, the whiteness of the world slowly fades into the details of the clearing around him. louis can see birds fluttering about in the trees around them, and he can smell the pine needles underneath him, and he can taste his blood on his tongue, and he can feel tears on his cheeks, and he can hear harry’s breath in his ears.

“good job, lou,” harry sighs into louis’ cheek, “you did so well. so well. i’m so proud of you.”

they sit in silence like that, their chests moving in a symphony of exhalations before louis speaks.

“where were you?” louis whimpers, unable to deny the hint of hurt that colors his voice.

“i stopped to get tea for us,” harry replies as he motions towards two discarded cardboard cups that look like they were dropped in a spectacular rush.

guilt rises up in louis’ throat and when his breath hitches in his chest, harry tugs him closer and curls his fingers into the fleece of louis’ jacket.

“no no no, don’t do that! i should have told you i was going to be late, i should have texted you.”

louis feels his mobile burning in his pocket, realizing that he hadn’t even thought of texting harry to ask about his whereabouts. but harry always texts him first and louis just replies. maybe he could have saved himself a panic attack if he was a little braver.

“what else happened?” harry asks as he strokes his thumb across louis’ collarbone.

“just, um- the book,” he answers, grateful that harry doesn’t assume that louis’ panic attack was centered solely around him.

“oh,” harry says, his voice heavy with knowing, “you finished _atonement_ , didn’t you?”

all that louis can manage is a weak nod as a few stray tears slide down his cheeks. he can feel harry shifting behind him and he wants to cry out for harry to stay, to please stay and never leave, but louis isn’t that brave.

“okay, you’re shaking. let’s get you inside.”

harry’s warmth is gone and louis feels like a chunk of him has been scooped out and thrown into the trash. but then harry is standing in front of louis, his arms outstretched and looking as if comfort was carved into his features. when louis doesn’t make a move to get up, harry reaches down and clasps him by the forearms and drags him upright. he’s unsteady on his feet until he feels harry’s hands curved around his hips, and harry gives him a reassuring smile as he guides louis towards the complex.

they make it up the stairs without louis falling over once, which he is very proud of. he stands leaning into harry’s chest as harry unlocks the door just a few down from louis’, and he tries to convince himself that he’s just gravitating towards harry because he’s still a bit weak. that’s the only reason, really.

before he can even take more than three steps into harry’s deserted flat, there is a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and he’s being ushered onto a large leather couch in the middle of the room. harry leaves the lights off as he scurries through the kitchen, telling louis he’ll be right there, he just needs to make them some tea. soon, there’s a warm mug nestled between louis’ still-shaking fingers and harry is settling onto the couch next to him.

“stop looking so worried,” louis mumbles over the wisp of steam rising from his tea.

“i’ll stop looking worried when you’ve got some color in your face,” harry scolds, reaching over to poke louis’ thigh.

louis is positive that there’s color in his cheeks now as a blush creeps up his neck, but harry is merciful and stays silent, simply leaning back onto the arm of the couch and sipping at his tea. louis studies him silently for a few minutes, not caring at that moment if harry can feel louis memorizing every insignificant detail about him. louis’ heart feels like melting butter, and he can feel a pang of gratitude surging through his veins.

so, louis tries to say thank you in the best way he knows how.

“you look like sunshine.”

louis speaks with more confidence than he has in a long time. even though harry doesn’t say anything and doesn’t turn his gaze to meet louis’, louis can see a smile stretching across his face.

“that, right there,” louis says, sticking his pointer finger out towards harry’s grin, “that’s what makes you look like sunshine. whenever you smile, i worry that you’re going to burn up from the inside out. it’s like there’s a miniature sun lodged in between your ribs and it’s bursting out of you through your smile and the way your eyes crinkle up and the sound of your laugh. every inch of you is the definition of warmth. everyone around you can feel it and see it in the dip of your dimple and the curve of your spine and the width of your hands. you’re bright and brilliant and radiant. just like sunshine.”

the silence between them is comfortable, but louis isn’t sure if he’s overstepped any unspoken boundaries, so he just wants harry to say something. anything.

“i think,” harry begins, turning to louis to reveal that his smile has turned mischievous, “that you just implied that the sun shines out of my arse.”

at that, louis laughs out loud. a brimming, full-bodied laugh that takes over him in a beautiful juxtaposition to the sobs that had so recently left his body. he laughs without restraint for the first time in his recent memory. when louis finally wipes the tears from his eyes and pulls himself back into a sitting position, harry is staring at him with an open-mouthed look of wonder on his face.

“’m tired,” louis says, his body drained from feeling more emotion in the past hour than he’d felt in years.

“i bet,” harry chuckles. “i’m guessing you don’t want to go to class today?”

“no, but don’t worry about it, i’ll just go back to my flat,” louis says, standing up too quickly. his head is pounding from dizziness and it obviously shows by the way harry rushes to sit him back down.

“absolutely not. you’re staying right here where i can make you as much tea as you need.”

louis wants to protest, but the blanket that harry is smoothing down over louis’ body is so warm- well, it’s either the blanket or harry’s hands- either way, louis quietly acquiesces with a sleepy nod and a content hum.

but there’s a question sticking in louis’ mouth and he doesn’t want it to go unanswered, so he reaches out and gently taps harry’s wrist with two fingers.

“yes, lou?”

“why did you ask if you could touch me?” louis asks, peeking through his heavy eyelids.

“what?”

“earlier today, when i was, you know- why did you ask if you could touch me before you did?” louis repeats.

“oh,” harry sighs, his thumb stroking the top of louis’ hand like it had earlier on the slope of his collarbone, “i’ve just noticed that you don’t like being touched.”

after a pause he adds, “and because you look so fragile. i’m worried that if i touch you, you’re going to crumble in my hands.”

louis feels the corner of his mouth quirk up into a sad smile as he drifts to sleep.

“you can’t break what’s already broken, harry.”

-

louis is submerged in ice cold water and his lungs are filling up quickly.

he’s kicking with all of his might and his arms are trashing wildly in an attempt to pull himself to the surface that is only a fingertips breadth away from his grasp.

but as always, louis is stuck. somehow he’s been cemented into place, forced to struggle until his body gives way to the gallons of water that are spilling in through every crack in his body. it’s just light enough for him to see the surface, which is the most torturous part of it all. he can feel himself slipping from consciousness and he knows the ending will come soon. he’s ready for it when he closes his eyes and feels like he’s being torn open at the seams.

and right before he thinks it’s over, _finally over_ , there’s a surge of light above him. it’s blinding and it shines through the water and warms everything, and louis thinks it must be some final act of mercy.

and then, he moves.

it’s barely a centimeter, but he moves just before his eyes roll back into his head and darkness overtakes him. he comes closer to the surface than he ever has before.

-

louis opens his eyes to the sound of harry singing and something sizzling in the kitchen.

_don’t you worry there, my honey_  
_we might not have any money_  
_but we’ve got our love to pay the bills_

he’s slick with sweat and swallowing air mouthfuls at a time to make up for the sensation he’d just escaped in his dream, but harry’s voice is drawing him in.

_maybe i think you’re cute and funny_

louis stands and slowly extricates himself from the cocoon he’d wrapped himself in, the pads of his feet barely making a sound as he pitter-patters into the kitchen to stand behind harry. he feels his nose running and tastes saline his lips, so he sniffles loudly and wipes the straggling tears from his cheeks.

_maybe i wanna do what bunnies do with you_  
_if you know what-_

he must startle harry, because at the sound of someone behind him, harry whips around with a spatula in his hand and the song dies in his throat.

“jesus, lou! you scared me,” harry says with his eyes wide.

but when he takes in louis’ state, he practically throws the spatula across the room before he crosses the space between them. his hand is tentative and there’s a question in his eyes when he reaches up towards louis’ face, so louis gives his consent with a small nod. harry’s hand cups louis’ small cheek, and he rubs at the tracks the tears have left on louis’ skin as he asks softly, “what’s going on? are you okay?”

instead of replying, louis lets his eyes fall shut again and he leans into the touch. he again wants to blame his lingering drowsiness and weak state for his desire to feel harry’s touch, but somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows he can’t.

“louis, what happened?”

the use of his name brings louis back to the matter at hand and he collects himself before he accidentally starts purring out loud.

“just a nightmare ‘s all.”

“do you wanna talk about it?” harry asks, his eyes searching louis’ for something he can’t see.

“no, not right now,” louis answers before pointing at the stove, “i don’t want your chicken to burn.”

“fuck the chicken,” harry says with serious conviction.

louis lets a laugh bubble up from his throat as he continues, “i said not right now, that doesn’t mean never, okay?”

“you promise we’ll talk about it though?”

no one really knows about his dream besides his mum and his therapist- and louis likes it that way- but the intensity of harry’s stare at that moment alerts louis to the fact that harry is not letting this go until louis promises him. and he would be lying if he didn’t say that, for some reason, a little part of him wants to tell this boy everything he’s ever held inside of him.

“i promise.”

when harry’s face softens, but he doesn’t release his hold on louis’ cheek, louis cocks his head to the side and says playfully, “don’t ruin your dinner for me.”

at that, harry pulls his hand away and turns to the counter where he’d flung his spatula. louis can only see him in profile, but he’s definitely smiling that mischievous smile again when he speaks. “you mean _our_ dinner.”

“wh- what?” louis blanches, his heart sputtering like his words.

“our dinner,” harry repeats with his back to louis. “my flat mates will be back from class in a minute and they’ve been asking to meet you, so i thought this was as good a time as any.”

“meet me? why would they want to meet me?”

“they’ve been a tad curious ever since i told them a few weeks ago that i met a boy in the woods and that we’ve been hanging out every day. not normal, is it?”

“no, i guess it’s not. not normal,” louis replies. the words _not normal_ ring in his ears and taste heavy on his tongue, and he can feel bile rising in the back of his throat.

“i’ve never been a fan of normal, though.”

before louis can let those words sink in, harry is turning to him again with a nervous look on his face. “is that okay? i mean, are you okay with having dinner with my mates and i? i promise they’re very nice lads, no matter how ridiculous they seem on the outside. but, i was really only joking about you having to stay and i know you’ve had a long day and maybe you just want to be alone? i don’t know, i don’t want to overwhelm you but i really want you to meet them, i think you’d like them a lot.”

louis’ head is screaming for him to get out of there, to stop looking at harry and just walk out before he meets more people who will take one look at him and think he’s crazy. but there’s harry, fidgeting with the edge of his shirt and his eyes are cast to the ground in nervous embarrassment. harry who has never looked at him like he’s crazy, even when louis is breaking down in his arms or waxing poetic about various parts of him.

his head is screaming _no_ , but the beat of his heart is a faint echo of _yes_.

“yeah, it’s okay.”

“really?!” harry almost shouts.

“yeah,” louis admits, a worried edge creeping into his voice as he continues, “but i might not be very sociable, i mean- i get shy. i might not really talk all that much?”

the sound that comes out of harry’s mouth is so reminiscent to louis’ time at home with four younger sisters that he almost looks around for a little blonde girl running around the flat. however,  before louis can even think to make a joke about harry’s squeal, harry is charging towards him and scooping him up so high that his feet leave the ground.

“you don’t have to say anything, i promise! you can literally sit and not say a word all night, that’s completely okay, okay?” harry jabbers right into louis’ ear.

“mhm,” louis grunts, barely able to speak as harry crushes his sternum and ribs and every other bone in his body, “harry-”

“yeah, lou?” harry replies breathily.

“actually crumbling in your hands now.”

harry releases him with a sharp breath out, apologizing profusely as louis’ feet find solid ground again. louis waves him off, shaking slightly from the utter thrill he gets from being embraced by harry.

“sorry, i forget you’re so little sometimes,” harry says, running his hands through his hair before shaking it out, a habit that louis finds incredibly endearing.

“’m not little,” louis mumbles under his breath.

just as harry is opening his mouth to argue, the door to the flat swings open to reveal a blonde boy whooping and hollering while perched on the broad shoulders of another boy with a shaved head and warm brown eyes. when the brown-eyed boy sees louis standing in the middle of their kitchen, he stands up straight, throwing the blonde directly onto the tiled floor below.

“liam! what the fuck?” the blonde yells in indignation, and when louis hears an irish accent coming from his mouth, he knows that the blonde must be niall because that’s the only irish mate harry has ever mentioned.

but the other boy, liam, ignores niall and takes a few steps toward louis with a somewhat uncertain smile on his lips.

“hi,” he says, his voice quiet and measured, “you’re louis, aren’t you?”

it seems that louis’ voice has been startled out of him, so he merely nods his head and smiles as best he can. when he does, harry steps forward and lays his hand on the small of louis’ back, pushing him forward gently while he speaks. “louis, this is liam,” he explains, turning his gaze to the huffing and puffing irishman still on the floor, “and this is niall.”

as recognition seeps into niall’s eyes, he scrambles to his feet so quickly that he reminds louis of one of the little gophers he used to see pop up on the golf course at home.

“oh shit!” niall exclaims, grabbing louis’ right hand with both of his and shaking it vigorously. “it’s great to finally meet you, man! we’ve heard _so much_ about you,” he adds after sending a wicked smile at harry.

louis doesn’t understand why harry’s cheeks are turning pink or why niall and liam are chuckling and sending each other knowing looks, but he can hear something strange in harry’s voice when he speaks again.

“where’s zayn?”

“finishing a cigarette outside,” liam supplies as he sits down at the kitchen table.

“i thought you told him he had to quit or you were going to cut him off?” harry asks with raised eyebrows. before louis can figure out what liam was going to cut zayn off from, the boy he guesses is zayn walks through the door.

“speak of the devil,” niall says with a smirk, confirming louis’ guess.

the lean, dark-haired boy strips off his leather jacket and throws it over the back of a chair. louis has heard his name more than anyone else’s in the time he’s gotten to know harry, so he knows that zayn has been harry’s best friend for years now. however, louis isn’t expecting the nerves that settle into his bones when he realizes he’s standing in the same room with the one person whose opinion harry admits to holding almost higher than his own.

but zayn doesn’t look at them as he sends a pointed glance in niall’s direction and inquires in an amused tone, “and why am i the devil?”

“you know why,” liam answers, and louis can’t help but notice that liam’s face has transformed into that of someone who is staring at a box of kittens and sunshine and happiness.

but liam’s star struck expression and the fondness mirrored in zayn’s gaze is explained when zayn strolls over to liam and places himself delicately in liam’s lap. liam looks up at him expectantly, so zayn leans down and plants a soft kiss on liam’s mouth, his bottom lip pliant as it lingers between liam’s when he pulls away.

“and that’s why i can’t cut him off. denying him is something i’ve never been good at,” liam explains over niall’s fake retching and harry rolling his eyes as he wraps his arms around zayn’s waist.

and oh. _oh_. louis gets it, and if the way liam is ferociously sucking marks into zayn’s neck is any indication of their overall relationship, he begins to feel bad for whichever one of the two remaining flat mates that has to live next to their bedroom.

“zayn, this is louis,” harry interrupts, prompting zayn to look in their direction for the first time.

“hello there, louis. nice to finally meet you,” zayn says coolly, “harry tells us you’re a writer?”

louis swallows the lump forming in his throat and nods politely.

“who’s your favorite poet?” zayn asks expectantly.

the room goes silent as the other four boys wait patiently for louis to answer. louis knows from harry that zayn is an english major, so he probably really knows his stuff. louis thinks his entire body is shaking, which means harry must feel it in the hand still placed on his back, so he pries the words from his mouth before harry begins worrying again.

“it’s- uh, it’s a tie between richard siken and sylvia plath.”

when zayn’s mouth melts into a smile, louis feels himself and all of the other boys in the room exhale in relief. “you sure know how to pick ‘em, styles,” zayn croons.

louis doesn’t know if that’s a compliment or not, but he does know that he’s obviously missing something by the way harry is staring at his flat mates with something close to murder in his eyes. he’s about to ask harry what’s going on when harry announces that it’s time for dinner and that they should all wash up.

“who are you, me mum?” niall groans over his shoulder as liam pushes him towards what louis assumes is a bathroom.

harry chuckles and starts moving back into the kitchen just as zayn passes him on his way to a closed door on the other side of the flat. louis knows it probably isn’t for his ears, but he hears the words that zayn whispers to harry.

“i approve.”

louis is so very confused by it all, and even more so when he sees the way harry bites at his inner cheek and suppresses a smile over the heat of the stove. louis feels like the four of them are speaking some strange language he’s never even heard of, but he forgets mostly everything when he catches harry beaming at him from across the kitchen counter. and when the five of them sit down and harry is still beaming next to him, louis realizes that his hands aren’t shaking in the slightest.

during dinner, louis learns quite a lot.

he learns that zayn actually wants to be an english teacher, liam is only at uni to play football but he’d be a fireman otherwise and niall, well… louis still isn’t sure what niall wants to do with his life. he’s pretty sure niall would be happy just sitting around with his friends and drinking for the rest of his years, and louis decides that doesn’t sound so bad with this lot.

the four of them play off of each other like a pinball machine, comments and questions and jokes shot backwards and forwards between them like lightning. louis laughs and smiles right along with them, many times offering his own thoughts without being prompted to. whenever he does, harry lights up and louis thinks it’s like a domino effect, the way the other three light up when he does.

they all seem so genuinely happy together, and louis realizes halfway through the night when his face is aching from smiling so much that he might actually feel something like happy too. liam asks him about his football team at home, niall compliments his sweater and zayn invites him to perform in the huge artist showcase they have planned for early next year.

“zayn’s already convinced me to join the cause, so i reckon you should too,” harry says with a playful nudge to louis’ shoulder.

“are you gonna sing?” louis asks incredulously, knowing harry has never sung in front of an audience before.

“mhm,” harry affirms as pride flushes into louis’ cheeks.

“so, how about it, louis?” zayn asks, and his voice is soon joined by all of the others in the room. louis says he’ll consider it if only to quiet all of their pleas.

not long after that conversation, zayn and liam retreat to their room, their bodies pressed together as if having any space between them would be a terrible sin. judging by the flush of liam’s cheeks and the dilation of his pupils, louis imagines the words that zayn is whispering into his ear are grammatically flawless and filthy promises that could only come from the mind of an english major.

when niall gets up from his place and announces that he’s about to pass out, music starts pouring out from under zayn and liam’s door. niall groans and stalks into the room directly across from theirs as harry leans over to louis and explains that the music is part of zayn and liam’s we’re-going-to-fuck-really-loudly-so-we’ll-try-to-be-nice-and-drown-it-out-with-this-music playlist.

two hours later, louis is next to harry on the leather couch finishing _finding nemo_ and his pulse is hard and heavy in his veins as harry traces nonsensical patterns on the back of his hand.

obviously, harry has lost all of his previous qualms of touching louis because this has been going on for about an hour now. louis is fighting the urge to either trap harry’s restless fingers between his own or flee from harry’s presence altogether. but louis doesn’t have the courage to do the first and he finds he’s already become too dependent for the second. so, when the credits roll he pulls his hand away and shifts his body to face harry. harry looks a little hurt at first, but when louis opens his mouth to speak, he snaps to attention.

“i think i actually know the song you were singing earlier.”

“yeah? which one?” harry asks pulling at his lips with the fingers that were just touching louis’ hands, and  louis gets lost in memories of harry’s lips on his skin for a few seconds.

“uh, i don’t know the name but lottie used to sing it all the time. i think i remember the chorus though.” louis is panicking because he can’t stop thinking about harry’s lips, so he does the only logical thing he can think of at that very second- he sings.

_oh, let’s get rich and buy our parents homes in the south of france_  
_let’s get rich and give everybody nice sweaters_  
_and teach them how to dance_  
_let’s get rich and build our house on a mountain_  
_making everybody look like ants_  
_way up there_  
_you and i_  
_you and i_

louis’ voice is shaking with uncertainty by the time he’s finished and he doesn’t know why in the world he thought that was a good idea, so he talks to cover up the embarrassment radiating from every part of him. “uh, yeah- so, i think that was it. the same song, i mean. oh, is it called ‘you and i’? i think it is. it’s sara bareilles or ingrid michaelson or someone like that. i don’t know? wow, um, i’m sorry. that was weird,” he stammers as his nervous laughter punctuates the choppy sentences.

when louis looks up at harry, the crappy background music on the _finding nemo_ dvd menu is playing loudly, but when their eyes meet, harry throws his head back and exhales so loudly that it’s the only thing louis can hear.

“you’re going to be the death of me.”

 _what?_ louis wants to ask, but his mouth dries up with anxiety before he can even try. the question must be written on his face though, because harry takes one look at it and scoots closer, staring straight into him.

“i can’t handle it, louis. fuck’s sake, it’s absolutely ridiculous-” he groans before louis cuts him off.

louis can see harry’s hands shaking and realizes that this is it, this is the moment that louis has lived so many times over: harry is about to tell louis that he is too crazy to deal with. and then louis realizes that his heart can’t take that blow again, especially not from harry, so he decides to save himself by saving harry the trouble. “got it,” he says as he stands, “sorry for everything then. i’ll just go.”

“wait, what?”

the pure shock in harry’s voice stops louis in his tracks just as harry stands and grasps louis’ wrist tightly. “what are you talking about?” harry asks, sounding like he’s been punched in the chest. “lou, what is it?”

“don’t make me say it,” louis pleads, his eyes fixed on harry’s hand wrapped around his wrist.

“what in the world are you going on about?”

louis turns his gaze up to search harry’s eyes, quickly recognizing that harry is going to make him say it, he’s going to make him stand there and linger in his pain. “you can’t handle me anymore. i’m too crazy for you to deal with,” he says through clenched teeth in an attempt to hold himself together a bit longer.

and then harry is laughing. harry is standing there, actually laughing at louis’ pain and he can’t take it anymore. he starts to wrench himself from harry’s grip when harry cries out, “no! no, lou. i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to laugh.”

“will you look at me?” harry asks softly. when louis doesn’t move or speak, he repeats himself, “please lou. look at me.”

louis thinks the world does a full revolution before he brings his gaze to rest on harry’s face.

“thank you.” harry lets his hand drop from louis’ wrist, but it doesn’t linger by his side when he speaks. “lou,” he sighs, bringing his hand to rest on louis’ cheek again. louis hates himself for the shivers that tingle through his skin at harry’s touch.

“i’m sorry i laughed, but what you said was just so ridiculous. that’s not what i meant at all. literally the complete opposite. i wasn’t saying that i couldn’t handle _you_ anymore. right before you stopped me, i was about to admit that i couldn’t handle _not kissing you_ anymore. honestly, i’ve wanted to kiss you since the first time you opened your mouth. and then, just now, you started singing and talking about nothing like you do when you get nervous and that was it for me. that was my breaking point. i thought i was actually going to have a heart attack from not being able to kiss you, so i decided i needed to say something before i really did keel over and die. and now i’ve said something, but i still haven’t kissed you, so it’s not any better. basically, what i’m trying to say is that i want to kiss you. i want to kiss you right now, louis.”

the world does another full revolution. and another. and another. then, the world falls out of the sky.

“no. no, you don’t,” louis whispers.

“yes, i absolutely do,” harry replies as his other hand comes to rest on louis’ chest, right over his heart. “you’re incredible, louis. and i really, really want to kiss you.”

“i’m not incredible.”

“yes-”

“no, i’m not! i’m _crazy_ , harry! i’m fucking batshit nuts!” louis shouts as the sobs he’d been holding in erupt from his chest. but before he can shatter, harry shifts his weight forward and firmly grips louis’ side, holding him in place and speaking in a steady voice.

“you are not crazy.”

“yes, i really-” louis begins through his tears, but harry just speaks over him.

“you are not crazy, louis. don’t ever use that word to describe yourself. you are anything but crazy.”

“okay then, i’m a writer, i’m good at synonyms. how about insane? or fucked up, unnatural, weird, screwy, worthless, broken.” his voice breaks on the word _broken_ and louis wants to laugh at the irony. he can barely see anything in front of him, but he can’t help himself from searching for the green  of harry’s eyes that reminds him of freshly-cut grass through the tears swimming in his.

“i’m broken, harry.”

it sounds like a plea when it tumbles out of his mouth, and he can’t believe he’s saying out loud what he’s never even wanted to admit inside his head. but harry simply smiles down at him and there’s sun shining in his eyes as he looks at louis.

“you’re not broken. you just haven’t been handled with care.”

the smile doesn’t leave harry’s lips as he leans down and presses them softly against louis’.

it’s barely a touch, barely a whisper of a kiss, but the lighter inside his chest- the lighter that usually just flicks on and off when he sees harry- ignites. and when louis presses back, and tangles his hands into harry’s curls, and opens his mouth and breathes harry in, his kerosene-soaked insides burst into flames.

louis burns from the inside out, and every second of it is beautiful.

-

**november 1 st**

every minute louis spends with harry makes him feel like he’s slowly gaining back all the time he wasted while he was alone for so many years.

in two weeks, they’ve fallen easily into a harmonized bliss that reminds louis of cruising around the countryside on a clear sunday afternoon. they spend their days swapping lazy kisses and watching movies and comparing lyrics to poetry and prose. harry quickly gains the ability to read louis’ moods like louis reads his books, and he never pushes louis further than what he can handle.

but after two weeks, there is one slight problem: louis still hasn’t gotten up the courage to tell harry about his nightmare or his panic attacks or why he sometimes retreats into himself without any warning. louis has seen the flash of frustration and disappointment and hurt in harry’s eyes whenever louis tells him that they’ll talk about it “soon”, but it seems like “soon” never comes.

now, two weeks later, louis is settled on his bed between harry’s legs and drinking his usual after-class cup of while harry sings “your song” by elton john in his ear.

_i hope you don’t mind_  
_i hope you don’t mind_  
_that i put down in words_  
_how wonderful life is while you’re in the world_

something clicks together inside of him as he hears those lyrics coming from those lips, and he is hit with a wave of gratitude for the beautiful boy sitting behind him. so, he decides “soon” is today.

“harry?”

“yes, love?”

“i’m ready.”

louis isn’t sure harry hears him, or even understands him because he stays silent for a minute, his breathing slowing so much it almost comes to a stop. but then harry’s arms are tightening around his waist and he’s whispering, “okay,”  into a soft patch of skin at the base of louis’ neck.

louis doesn’t look at harry throughout his entire confession, but he feels harry’s chest heaving and hears him sniffling when louis gets to the heavier parts of the story. he knows harry is crying and he can taste his own tears dripping onto the tip of tongue, but he doesn’t stop. and if he doesn’t elaborate on the “trigged by a traumatic event” part of “severe clinical depression and an anxiety disorder triggered by a traumatic event”, it’s only because he doesn’t have the emotional reserves to talk about that without self-destructing. he’s not sure if he ever will, but he thinks harry would understand if he knew.

when louis decides that he’s finished talking, he closes his eyes and slumps into harry’s chest. harry is slow and deliberate when he pulls them both backwards until they’re horizontal, leaving louis lounging on top of him.

“thank you.”

harry keeps whispering those words as his hands find their way to louis’ hips. in one swift motion, harry pushes louis off and then twists himself on top of louis so that he lands with his face buried in louis’ sharp collarbones. louis grips onto harry’s sides as harry’s weight bears down on him, and he digs his nails in when harry trails kisses up his jaw and into his mouth.

“thank you, louis. thank you so much,” harry pants in between their desperate attempts to somehow get even closer to each other. “i’m so proud of you.”

louis is glad that harry isn’t concerned about how fragile he is anymore, because as his kisses become less reserved and he claws at louis like he wants to feel absolutely all of him, louis feels every ounce of anxiety drain from him and slip out of the room through the cracks in his windowpanes. harry doesn’t ask as he starts tearing at louis’ clothes because louis begins to tear right back. soon, they’re both naked and the feel of his skin on harry’s makes louis wonder if he’d ever been alive before that moment.

harry is gazing down at his exposed body and his smile is soaking up every bit of louis. he thinks that this is what love must be like; to give everything to a person and then watch them tuck it inside of themselves for safekeeping.

harry must be thinking the same thing as he pries his mouth from louis’ hip bone to stare up at him. “i think i might be falling for you, louis.”

louis smiles as he twists harry’s curls around his fingers and tugs, hoping harry knows that he thinks he might feel the same.

he may not be ready to say anything like that out loud, but later, when they’re left panting and tangled together in the bright light of afternoon, louis sighs a confession of his own into harry’s open mouth.

“you taste like a monsoon after a ten-year drought.”

harry hums a questioning hum back and the vibrations of his lips sink into louis’ entire existence.

“you taste like salvation.”

-

**december 10 th**

even though he still has eight days to plan, louis is starting to panic just a bit as he wracks his brain for a two month anniversary gift for harry.

louis has never been one for anniversaries or celebrations of any sort, so he didn’t even think about getting harry something on their one month anniversary. but when harry had surprised him with breakfast in bed and tickets to a book signing by one of his favorite authors, louis had learned his lesson. he would not be approaching this anniversary empty-handed.

as he mulls over the pros and cons of concert tickets versus a personalized guitar strap, harry calls over to louis while he stirs the pasta he’s preparing for dinner that night. “hey lou, lottie’s name just flashed on your screen. i think you have a few missed calls from her and your mum.”

louis sighs, remembering that it’s tuesday and that his phone must have been on silent all day. for some reason, all of the women in the tomlinson household usually make weekly calls to get updates on his life on tuesday nights.

“do you want me to give her a ring back?” harry asks.

“sure, love,” louis mumbles just loud enough for harry to hear, “she’d probably rather talk to you anyways.”

louis can still hear the happiness in lottie’s voice when he’d first told her about his boyfriend, and then when he’d let harry talk to her during one of their weekly phone calls. he had pretended to be completely distraught when she had insisted on talking to harry first the next week, but louis couldn’t really blame her. it’s hard not to be fond of the boy, no matter who you are.

“you know, you’re probably right,” harry teases as he turns down the heat on the stove and picks up louis’ phone.

louis just sticks out his tongue as harry answers the call with a bright, “hey lott! i was just telling your brother how you love me more than him-”

when harry’s voice drops a few decibels and his eyebrows furrow in concern, louis sits up from his place.

“hey lottie, hey now- what’s going on?” louis’ heart is beating furiously as harry stands listening intently, and he tries to untangle himself from the blanket he’d been twisting in when harry speaks again.

“he’s right here, lottie. yes, i’m with him.” harry keeps glancing at him as he makes his way across the room. “he’s fine, lottie, i promise. do you want to talk to him?”

after a second, harry is handing over the phone and shaking his head in confusion while he whispers, “she’s crying and she keeps asking if you’re okay?”

louis bites his lip and wonders what lottie could be going on about. she’s always been a bit overdramatic, but louis never takes any chances when she calls crying.

“hey love, it’s me. are you okay?”

her breathing is shallow and mismatched when she replies, “you haven’t answered any of my calls.”

“i know, love. i’m sorry-”

“god, louis, we thought you were dead!” she almost shouts as she cuts him off.

“just because i didn’t answer your calls? i forgot that it’s tuesday is all. i’m sorry, love. now, what’s going on?”

“louis…” she breathes into the phone.

“what is it, lottie? please tell me, you’re starting to freak me out.”

“louis, do you know what day it is?” she asks very slowly, as if she were talking to a child.

“yes, lottie. i know it’s tuesday, i told you i’m sorry for not picking up-” he repeats, getting a bit frustrated with his younger sister’s guilt trip.

“no, louis! no!” she shouts at full volume, “do you know what today’s _date_ is?”

“i don’t know, lottie. what day is it?” he asks, completely unsuspecting of what will come next.

“it’s december 10th, louis.”

lottie breaks into tears at that, crying into the phone from halfway across the country as the information hits louis like a wrecking ball. he doesn’t even register the noise when the phone falls from his hand and clatters at his feet.

-

**december 10 th, 2005**

“and _another_ goal for stan the man!”

louis is absolutely furious.

he can feel the heat of anger fuming from his cheeks as his best friend gallops around his front yard with his shirt pulled up over his head celebration-style.

“with that goal, there is absolutely no way the tommo can make a comeback,” stan shouts into a nonexistent microphone, “he is totally and completely fucked!”

“you cheated!” louis growls with crossed arms.

at that, stan furrows his brow and turns to set his sights on louis. with a victory cry, stan propels himself across the yard and launches himself on top of louis sans warning. the two boys topple to the ground in a tangle of limbs, louis struggling and cursing wildly as stan laughs happily above him. even though louis puts up quite the fight, stan is still a bit bigger than louis and he overpowers him easily.

“it’s not fucking fair! you cheated,” louis whines.

but louis’ whines have no effect on stan as he wraps his arms around louis’ waist and giggles into his ear, “i didn’t cheat. i’m just the best footie player in ALL OF DONCASTER!” when louis groans and tugs away in protest at the screams ringing in his ears, stan pulls him in closer and smacks a wet kiss onto his cheek.

for most 12 year-old boys, their interactions would seem strange and uncomfortable, but for louis and stan, it’s second nature. they’ve been best friends ever since louis can remember, and louis can’t imagine not having stan right next door. his mum and stan’s always say that they’d known louis and stan would be best mates when the two first met. they always tell the story with smiles on their faces, recalling the one year-olds using each other to escape from their playpen twenty minutes after they’d been introduced.

it’s really getting dark when stan finally gets off of louis and stands above him, smiling as he reaches down and hauls louis upright.

“don’t pout so much,” stan coos as his pinches louis’ cheek patronizingly, “i swear, if you were playing against anyone but me, you’d beat ‘em! unfortunately, i have natural talent and the ability to read your next move on your face.”

“oh, come off it,” louis mumbles, kicking the ball angrily.

the bright orange football bounces into the road that stretches in front of louis’ and stan’s houses and stan huffs out an exasperated breath as he rolls his eyes at louis. “you’re such a sore loser, lou,” stan teases with a lopsided grin as he jogs backwards towards the road to retrieve the ball.

louis sticks out his tongue before he turns with his back to stan to pick up his fallen beanie, unable to stay mad at his best friend, calling over his shoulder, “yes, but you love me!”

instead of hearing the joking answer he was expecting, louis’ ears are assaulted by the screeching of breaks and a loud impact as the unmistakable smell of burnt rubber fills up his nose. when he whips around, there’s a small grey car stopped a few paces away from a dark form crumpled in the middle of the road.

louis is running before his mind can process what’s happened, but when he sees the blood gushing from the back of stan’s head, he knows.

“stan-” he says hoarsely.

he hears a car door opening and his hands are stan’s shoulders, trying to shake him awake.

“stan? stan! stan, can you hear me?”

when he gets no response and can’t tell if stan is breathing, his voice rises and fills with desperation as he shouts to anyone who can hear, “help! somebody, please help! HELP! ”

suddenly, there is a weight pushing on his back and louis turns to come face to face with a middle-aged man who is staring at the body on the ground in horror. his pupils are blown wide and he’s struggling to keep his balance as he speaks to louis. “is- is he okay? oh god, what happened?”

“you hit him!” louis screams as his vocal chords pull tightly in his throat, “ _you hit him!”_

“i didn’t see him, i swear! i didn’t see him,” the man pleas as he sways closer to louis.

louis shoves him off with another frustrated scream, the man easily falling wayward into the front of his car. while the man mutters pleas and prayers through his tears, louis realizes that he can smell the alcohol from where he’s sitting clutching his best friend in his arms.

“help!” louis screams as his breath gets shallow, and each scream comes out more hoarse than the last.

he can barely hear the man’s sobs anymore as static fills his vision and his ears. he’s still screaming, and he knows people will have rushed out of their houses by now.

“please help me-”

louis’ body gives out then and he faints on top of stan, with a final _please_ escaping his lips. the sounds of sirens and a mother’s screams slice through the air as the last bit of louis’ sanity seeps out with the blood from stan’s head and the life from his eyes.

-

**december 10 th**

louis barely reaches the railing before he’s clutching onto it and emptying the contents of his stomach onto the pavement two stories below.

the unyielding guilt has taken root again and louis can feel it pounding out from his core as he wipes the corners of his mouth with his sleeve. the feeling that he spends 364 days trying to forget and push down and choke is overcoming him and it’s worse than he remembers. much, much worse.

he can see his 12 year-old self kicking that orange football in retaliation and he wants to scream, he wants to go back in time and yank that kid back by the hair and stop him. and then he can see stan’s body on the ground, and he wants to put himself in stan’s place. he wants to bleed out on the pavement and erase the screams of stan’s mother that are replaying in his head. he wants to do anything to bring his best friend back and to stop the excruciating pain pulsing through every part of him.

“i’m here, i’m here. talk to me.”

when harry’s arms wrap around his waist and harry’s lips connect to his cheek, it’s so reminiscent of that day and his last embrace with stan that he wrenches violently from harry’s grasp.

“lou! what’s going on?” harry calls after him as louis begins to stumble down the corridor towards his flat.

louis doesn’t respond as he keeps pushing in the direction of his flat, needing darkness and solitude to quiet the screaming ringing in his ears. but harry is chasing after him and pleading loudly as he grabs onto louis’ arm and pulls him to a stop.

“please talk to me! please!

it’s the first time in eight years that louis hadn’t remembered the anniversary of stan’s death. he’d forgotten to visit stan’s grave and stan’s mum like he always did, and when he turns to meet harry, the reason he’d forgotten greets him through a pair of bright green eyes.

“this is all your fault,” louis hisses at harry through his clenched jaw.

“wh-what?” harry falters.

“this is all your fault!” louis shouts as his stomach churns again, his voice raw from the acidity of the bile. “i’ve never forgotten before. the one day i need to remember and all because of you, i’ve forgotten. i have to remember, i owe that to him, harry!”

harry looks confused and louis knows he can’t possibly know what’s happening, but his voice only breaks once when he speaks. “isn’t that- isn’t that a good thing?”

“ _what?”_ louis shouts incredulously.

“no,” harry whimpers weakly, tears forming in his eyes, “i meant, isn’t it a good thing that you were too happy to remember whatever happened? it must have been really bad, but maybe this means that it’s getting a little bit better?”

“this is never going to be better,” louis replies, anger rising with the bile threatening to come out again. “i’m never going to be better.”

“but maybe this means i’m at least helping you?”

“no, harry. nothing can help me,” louis states with a cold stare.

“but maybe i can fix-”

at the word “fix”, louis explodes again.

“fix _what_ , harry? fix _me_?! i’m not some little project for you to finish. i’m not a little bird with a broken wing that you can nurse back to health _._ i am not a science experiment! you could never fix me, harry. the only way i could ever be fixed is if someone brought my best friend back to life! can you do that, harry? can you?”

when harry replies by staring numbly at louis’ frantic eyes, louis yanks his arm from harry’s grasp and spits out, “i didn’t think so,” before turning on his heel and heading to his flat again.

but harry is quick, and in a matter of seconds he’s gathered louis in his arms and is breathing onto louis’ face as tears stream from his eyes. “you’re not running away from me, louis.”

as louis looks up into the eyes of the boy standing before him, he realizes two things: he realizes that he can’t feel the love for harry that had so recently taken a place in his heart. all he can feel is guilt and he needs to make it stop, and the only way to make it stop is to get away from harry. but he also realizes that harry is not planning on letting louis go anywhere anytime soon. so, louis does the only thing he can think of- he _makes_ harry let go of him.

“you feel like drowning,” louis snarls up into the space between his mouth and harry’s. “you feel like being brought out to sea and weighed down and left to die. i can feel you seeping into every inch of me and turning my blood cold and ripping me apart from the inside out. being with you is worse than being in my dreams. you’re suffocating me. you feel like hopelessness and darkness and nothingness.”

louis knows he’s struck the right chord when harry goes rigid and his arms drop from louis’ side.

he doesn’t waste any time as he turns and sprints for his door, knowing that harry might see through his lies at any moment and come rushing back to him. when he finally swings the door open, he glances back on a whim and finds harry frozen where louis left him, the only movement being his tears splattering onto the carpet below his feet. as he slams the door and turns the deadbolt, louis collapses on the floor like one of harry’s tears. he lies there for what feels like hours, his memories flickering between the look on stan’s face and harry’s. the utter resemblance throws louis off of the deep end, and he swears he’s never been in so much pain as he cries himself into the morning.

when the sun starts to spill through the blinds, louis hears footsteps approaching his door and the distinct sound of sniffling.

“lou?”

the sound of harry’s voice makes louis’ sobs redouble, but he bites down on his palm to keep them from echoing through the flat.

“i don’t know if you can hear me, but i’ve left your mobile outside your door. you should call your mum as soon as you can. i told her you’re okay, but she threatened to drive up here today if she didn’t hear it from your mouth.”

harry’s voice sounds as rough as gravel and louis thinks he might scream if he hears it any longer, but then he can hear someone shouting harry’s name across the complex. he thinks it might be niall, but he wants to thank whoever it is for saving him from biting straight through his skin.

if louis hears the quiet “i love you” that harry whispers as he retreats, he blocks it out because he’s surely endured enough pain for one day.

when he’s sure harry is gone, he pulls up by the doorknob and tentatively opens the door. after seeing that the coast is clear, he snatches up his mobile from his welcome mat and slinks back into the flat. there’s a post-it note stuck to the screen and harry’s messy handwriting is scrawled across it.

_your mum explained, call her please._

but it’s the smaller letters written delicately at the bottom of the note that snap louis in half.

_come back.  
_

he calls his mum and she’s there within hours. louis climbs into the car with two bags slung over his shoulders as he tries not to watch the building fade away in the rearview mirror.

-          

**december**

louis is sure that nothing has ever hurt like this.

-

**january**

absolutely nothing.

-

**february 1 st**

when louis sneaks back into his flat for the first time in almost two months, it’s midnight and louis is dreading beginning classes in a few hours.

well, what he’s mostly dreading is the threat of facing niall, liam, zayn or harry. mostly harry. that’s the main reason he’d snuck into his flat at midnight because he’d guessed that they’d all be out celebrating harry’s birthday tonight instead of sitting in their flat or wandering the complex. luckily, he was right.

during break, he’d begged his mum to let him end his current lease and find another place, but he knew it was hopeless. his family had a decent amount of money, but not enough for louis to spend thousands of it just to avoid other people in his complex.

so, he drops his bags in the entryway of his flat and drags himself towards his empty room. when he kicks off his trainers and finally collapses into his bed, something familiar wafts up from the sheets and the pillowcases and the duvet he’s wrapped himself in. louis chokes back a sob and scrambles off of the bed to avoid the smell of _chanel de bleu_ and harry’s skin. louis had just spent the last two months trying to rip every memory of harry out his mind, but to no avail. even though he’d thrown out his mobile and deleted his facebook, he felt like harry had somehow crept into his life every single day since, be it a song on the radio, a sweater he’d found mixed in with his own, or the taste of harry’s favorite tea.

he finds an old blanket stuffed in the back of his linen cupboard, one that harry definitely never would have touched, lays it over him and tries to fall asleep on the couch.

it doesn’t work. it doesn’t work, because harry’s smell isn’t just in his sheets and his pillowcases and his duvet- it’s everywhere. harry is moulded into every nook and cranny of his flat and louis knows there’s no escape, so he gives in.

that night, louis dreams of drowning in a sea the shade of freshly-cut grass, and he swears he can hear harry singing above the surface of the water, so he doesn’t even struggle.

he lets the sea fill him up and tear him apart, just to hear harry’s voice again.

-

**february 3 rd**

it hadn’t taken long for niall to realize that since classes had begun again, louis would have to be back to participate in them.

yesterday, he’d barged in with a six-pack of beer and demanded that louis watch the football match with him. after the initial shock wore off, louis was pleasantly surprised to find that he had geniunely missed the friendship he’d developed with harry’s flat mates over the months he’d gotten to know them. even though half of the visit had been not-so-subtle inquiries from niall during commercial breaks, louis preferred the company to being alone.

today, louis is prepared when niall’s voice booms through the door as he knocks vigorously.

“louis! get your arse over here and let me in!”

before he opens the door, he plasters on a smile and tries to make it reach his eyes. yesterday was bad enough with niall sending him worried glances every few seconds, so louis hopes he can make it through today a bit easier with feigned happiness.

but when the door opens, the smile falls from louis’ face and is replaced by a look of unadulterated fear to find not only niall standing on his doorstep but liam and zayn as well.

before any of them can speak, niall bustles through the door and flops over the back of the couch while cradling two six-packs in his arms like they’re his children. the smile on liam’s face is tentative and warm as usual, but louis can see the tension prickling through his fingers that are gripped tightly around zayn’s wrist. however, if liam’s fingers have tension prickling through them, zayn’s entire body is a bungee cord pulled taut. his eyes are shifting, his fingers are twitching and his jaw is clamped shut.

“come in,” louis squeaks out, and at the sound of his voice, zayn turns and levels him with the coldest stare louis has ever seen.

but liam’s thumb is rubbing calming circles into his palm, so zayn lowers his gaze as he breezes into the room and perches himself on the edge of the couch as if he’s hoping for a quick and easy escape.

“hey louis,” liam says as he clasps louis on the shoulder, “it’s good to see you.”

“good to see you too,” louis intones honestly as they make their way to the television area, liam taking a seat between zayn and niall while louis lowers himself into his worn-out chair.

they watch the first part of the game in a comfortable silence, but when the commercials come on, zayn’s tension permeates into the environment and louis thinks he could reach out and touch it if he wanted. liam breaks the silence when he pats zayn on the leg and turns to louis, his kindness practically oozing from his pores.

“how was your break?”

“alright,” louis replies quietly, keeping his gaze trained on the floor, “how about you all?”

“i had a lovely time being back home, missed the family and all, you know. what about you, love?” liam asks up to his boyfriend.

“better than harry’s, i’d say,” zayn snaps without taking his eyes from the television.

“zayn…” liam whispers with a warning in his voice, but zayn doesn’t take any notice.

“sorry, louis,” zayn continues when he hears louis’ breath hitch in his throat, “didn’t mean to upset you by mentioning harry.”

“zayn,” liam repeats, his voice rising a bit when zayn stands and begins to cross the room towards louis.

“oh, but liam, why would louis be upset by the mention of harry? i think he’s made it quite clear that he doesn’t give a shit about harry.” louis opens his mouth to argue but zayn is quicker, his words cutting through the air like an axe. “and don’t you _dare_ say you give a shit about him, because if you do i’ll have to knock you ‘round the mouth right here and now.”

by that point, liam has gotten up and has a firm grasp on zayn’s shoulder when zayn speaks again.“if you give a shit about him or if you ever gave a shit about him, you’d get up right now and go tell him yourself.”

when he doesn’t move, louis gives the only explanation he can for his action: “he won’t want to see me or hear from me. he hates me.”

“as well he should.”

with that, zayn rips his arm from liam’s grasp and storms out of the flat, sparing nothing as he slams the door shut with a force so strong that it shakes the pictures hanging on the walls.

before he can crumble right then and there, liam and niall’s arms are holding him and bringing him back to the support of the couch. niall presses sloppy kisses into his hair and liam shushes into his ear, and their kindness overwhelms louis.

“why are you here?” louis hiccups out, “i’ve gone and fucked everything up and you should both hate me. you’re harry’s friends. why are you here?”

“stop that, we’re your friends too. and of course we don’t hate you,” liam replies as he squeezes the back of louis’ neck and niall nods in agreement

“but you should.”

“no, louis. we want to be here for you,” liam assures him.

“harry told us that whatever happened was big, and something that no one should ever go through alone. so, here we are,” niall explains with his arms open wide and a smile just as wide.

the three of them huddle on the couch for a few more minutes before louis gets up the courage to ask the question he’d been holding in for two months now.

“how is he?”

the silence that grows between them as liam and niall exchange looks is painful and when neither of them respond, louis takes that as his answer.

“he hates me,” louis whimpers into the crook of his elbow, “i know he hates me.”

“no!” liam yelps as he tries to prevent louis from crumpling again.

“no, it’s just that… well-” niall begins as he searches for the right words.

“it’s just that it’s not our place to talk about it,” liam finishes for him.

“right, it’s not our place,” niall repeats, “but mate, you should really come to the showcase tomorrow night.”

“is harry still singing in that?” louis asks a little too quickly.

“yeah, he is. and i think-” niall says, casting an uncertain glance at liam.

“i think,” liam cuts in for niall, “i think it’d be a really good idea for you to come.”

louis recoils at the idea, knowing the night would be full of pain and guilt at seeing harry’s face again. “i really don’t think it would be.”

“louis,” niall says with more seriousness than louis has ever heard in his voice, “you still love him.”

and even though louis had never said those words out loud, he hears how niall phrases it as a statement and not a question, and that’s enough for the realization to come crashing over louis.

“yes.”

“then you should be there to support him at the showcase tomorrow,” liam says with finality.

louis nods weakly and his exhaustion must show in his demeanor, because liam and niall insist on taking him into his bedroom and making him a cup of tea before they let louis kick them out of his flat. louis feels like a child again as liam pulls the covers over him and presses a kiss to his forehead before backing out of the room.

“i’ll be here at 6 tomorrow and we’ll grab some food before we head over, okay?” niall whispers into louis’ dark room.

“okay,” louis responds before he asks self-consciously, “what about you, liam?”

“i have to stay with zayn, love.”

“oh.”

“don’t worry about zayn. he just wants what’s best for harry. he’ll come around,” liam promises.

“and liam and i think we might know what’s best for harry,” niall adds, and louis doesn’t miss the wink that he sends to liam.

“goodnight,” they both whisper as the begin to close the door before louis can even think to ask about what they mean.

“goodnight,” louis responds before he sits up slightly and calls “thank you” after them. when he hears niall chuckle and liam telling him to go back to bed, louis curls into the warmth of his duvet and tries to forget that he plans on facing the person that’s been haunting him his every waking moment tomorrow night.

he doesn’t sleep at all.

-

**february 4 th**

louis is absolutely not ready for this.

the only thing keeping him from having the biggest panic attack of his life as harry walks onto the stage is the steady pressure of niall squeezing his hand and muttering reassurances under his breath.

louis had spent almost the entire night in silence as niall had chattered on about his hols and his new interest in the psychology department, but louis knew niall was doing it to try to ease some of louis’ obvious disease. it had worked for the first two hours, but now louis is seeing harry for the first time in what feels like decades and it hurts.

it all comes rushing back and hits him like a tsunami- the way harry walks with his toes pointed slightly inward, the breadth of his hands, the way he pulls at his lips when he’s nervous and how he brushes his curls out of his eyes. before louis even has time to process just seeing harry again, his mouth is on the mic and his voice is coming in over the loudspeakers.

“hey, i’m harry.”

it sounds just like he remembers, just like molasses.

“i’m gonna play my cover of ‘basket case’ by sara barielles for you guys tonight,” he continues as he loops his guitar over his shoulder, “but it’s really for someone else. ”

niall squeezes his hand like a vice, and louis welcomes the pain as a distraction.

“i don’t know if you’re out there, but you know who you are. i’m sorry i wanted to fix you. that was wrong of me. you can’t fix what isn’t broken in the first place.”

louis isn’t breathing as harry strums the first chords and begins to sing.

_i don't want to talk about it to you_  
_i'm not an open book that you can rifle through_  
_the cold hard truth that you'll see right to_  
_i'm just basket case without you_  
  
_he's not a magic man or a perfect fit_  
_but he had a steady hand and i got used to it_  
_and a glass cage heart and invited me in_  
_and now i'm just a basket case without him_  
  
_you're begging for the truth_  
_so i'm saying it to you_  
_i've been saving your place_  
_and what good does it do?_  
_now i'm just a basket case_  
  
_i don't say much and it'll stay that way_  
_you got a steel train touch and i'm just a track you lay_  
_so i'll stay right here underneath you_  
_i'm just a basket case and that’s what we do_  
  
_won't somebody come on in and tug at my seams?_  
_oh, send your armies in of robbers and thieves_  
_to steal the state i’m in- i don't want it anymore_  
  
_you're begging for the truth_  
_so i'm saying it to you_  
_i've been saving your place_  
_and what good does it do?_  
_now i'm just a basket case_  
_now i'm just a basket case_  
_now i'm just a basket case_

when harry finishes, the auditorium erupts into applause, but harry barely smiles as he unplugs his guitar and makes his way into the audience instead of going backstage.

harry’s halfway up the aisle on the other side of the auditorium and louis thinks he’s going to explode if he doesn’t get near harry. there is so much want and need blooming in his ribcage that he’s surprised he hasn’t burst into a smattering of confetti, but then he thinks about the look on harry’s face, and he sinks down in his chair, knowing that there’s a large possibility that all of the apologies in the world may not sway harry.

louis is just about to pull his hand from niall’s and retreat into the bathroom when his name booms over the intercom.

“up next we have louis tomlinson, who will be doing a poetry reading.”

louis gapes at niall from their seats on the far right of the auditorium, but niall doesn’t look quite as surprised. “he told us back in november that he’d reserved a slot for you, just in case he could convince you to get up and read,” niall whispers excitedly into his ear.

louis still has absolutely no idea what niall is going on about, but luckily, he continues and louis is hoping for an explanation in the near future.

“liam and i made sure that your slot didn’t disappear.”

“why?” louis whispers.

“because liam and i think we might know what’s best for harry. and for you.”

when louis is still sitting and gaping at niall, niall rolls his eyes and points at harry’s figure which has stopped at the back of the auditorium.

“you still love him.”

louis nods even though it isn’t a question.

“then go get him.”

with those words, louis’ fight or flight instincts take over, and for once, he doesn’t fly. he fights. he’s pushing through the rest of his row without apology and stumbling over his own feet as the announcer comes in over the intercom again.

“last call for louis tomlinson?”

when louis finally gets onto the stage, harry is slipping out of the door, thinking that louis isn’t going to show.

“i’m here,” he pants into the microphone, and he sees harry stop in his tracks.

“okay everyone, let’s give a big round of applause for louis tomlinson!” the announcer says as louis gazes into the audience, spotting the shocked ‘o’ of zayn’s mouth and the biggest smile he’s ever seen coming from liam.

quickly, he turns his attention back to the outline of harry’s figure in the back of the auditorium to make sure he hasn’t left and he huffs a sigh of relief when he’s still there. louis knows he doesn’t have much time before harry decides to leave, so he closes his eyes and prays that what comes out of his mouth sounds something like poetry.

“i lied,” louis breathes. “i lied. i lied when i said you felt like drowning. it’s the biggest lie i’ve ever told, and if i could, i would snatch those words out of the air and out of existence and shove them back down my throat and swallow them whole and never let them see the light of day. i was scared and i know that’s not an excuse, but you scare me and i know that’s not an excuse to hurt you, but when i’m scared i run and i know that’s not an excuse to abandon you, but i didn’t know what else to do. nothing has ever felt like you, and now i know that nothing else ever will. but the problem is that i wasn’t used to feeling. i spent eight years of my life not feeling, and then you swoop in and make me feel a thousand lifetimes in one kiss. that’s terrifying for someone who considers themselves to be nothing. you filled me up and made me whole again, and i mistaked that for water filling my lungs and dragging me down. but please believe me when i say that you do not feel like drowning. you look like sunlight personified, you sound like warm molasses dripping down my throat, you smell like the first snowstorm of winter, you taste like a monsoon after a 10-year drought. more than that, you feel like a heartbeat. you feel like _my_ heartbeat. you are the blood pumping through my veins, you are the rush of adrenaline, you are the pulse in my wrist, you are the reason i am alive. you are with me wherever i go. you do not feel like drowning- you feel like my heartbeat when i finally come up for air.”

the silence that stretches on as louis pants into the microphone and searches for harry’s eyes in the glare of the stage lights isn’t quite as deafening as the applause that follows. people are on their feet all around him and louis can see zayn and liam crying in the front row, but nothing else matters at that moment. he needs to see harry, see his face and tell him that it’s all true, that he means every word of it.

so he throws himself off the stage and down the stairs, sprinting blindly for the doors that harry had been standing at. but when he reaches the doors, no one is there and his heart drops into his stomach.

“he just went through there,” says a brunette standing in the back row as she points to the doors with a knowing smile on her face.

louis sucks in a breath and pushes the door open to reveal harry standing with his guitar hanging limply at his side and his hands covering his face. by the way his back is shaking, louis knows he’s crying, but he’s still buzzing with adrenaline so he approaches harry and places his hand on top of harry’s.

“lou,” harry gasps with a sharp intake of breath. he quickly pulls his hands from his face and uses one to wipe his tears, but keeps one tangled with louis’.

“i’m sorry, harry,” louis says evenly, knowing this may be his last chance to get the words out, “i love you.”

“what?” harry stutters.

“i love you,” louis repeats. “i love you and i should have said it sooner.”

“you love me?”

“yes,” louis says, taking a risk and a page from niall’s big book of confidence, “and you still love me.”

harry nods even though it isn’t a question, but it provides the answer louis needs.

he reaches up and brings his mouth to harry’s first, something he’s never done before. when harry melts into the kiss and traces his fingers along louis’ side, louis presses hard into harry’s mouth and bites and licks and pushes in an effort to fit all of his apologies and wants and needs into this single kiss.

he thinks it might work, because when harry pulls back, he’s starry-eyed and smiling.

“you are all of my favorite songs mushed up into one big favorite song,” harry says with a trace of uncertainty as he finishes the sentence.

after a second, they both burst into laughter and louis tugs on harry’s curls as he catches his breath with his eyelashes fluttering on harry’s cheek. “maybe we’ll leave the poetry to me?”

“yeah, that sounds about right,” harry says with a defeated sigh. and when louis tilts his chin up to bring his lips to harry’s again, harry sighs out a muffled “told you.”

“told me what?”

“not crazy,” harry blurts out in between each kiss, “not insane. not fucked up. not unnatural. not weird. not screwy. not worthless. not broken.”

louis smiles into the last kiss and nods slowly. “not broken,” he repeats.

“you just haven’t been handled with care.”

louis watches as that mischievous smile blooms onto harry’s face as he drags a gentle finger across louis’ cheek, “but luckily, i happen to be great with my hands.”

louis can’t take it anymore, so he throws his head back with messy laughter and harry kisses him dizzy. the world spins for a moment, but louis just lets himself spin with it because harry is right there with his hands keeping louis pinned to the earth.

-

that night, when harry is wrapped around louis and louis is wrapped around harry like two halves that always want to be whole, louis dreams of drowning.

louis dreams of drowning, but this time, the sea is warm and freshly-cut grass green.

and right before louis thinks he’s going to succumb to the water once again, there’s something pushing him upwards until his stretched out fingers reach the surface.

when his head breaks into the daylight above him, fresh air fills his lungs and tears of joy fill his eyes.

louis wakes with a smile and he turns in harry’s embrace to face him, planting a delicate kiss on the tip of his nose. as he drifts back to sleep, he thinks that whatever was pushing him upward was steady and pulsing, just like a heartbeat.

\--


End file.
